


Shadow Star

by Jasminalaine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, More tags later, in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasminalaine/pseuds/Jasminalaine
Summary: This is a sequel to my shorter work "The Night A Star Fell From Palestone Sword."  What if Ashara Dayne's fall off Palestone Sword didn't end in her death after all?  What if Daenerys Targaryen was not the first girl with violet eyes to spark the interest of a red priestess?  Expect lots of mystery, prophecy and at least one escape from Asshai.  The first chapters will bridge the timeline between Ashara's supposed death and the events of the first novel.  I'll be using both the show/novels as inspiration...but will likely turn a little more show-centric once we reach Qarth.  I plan on Ashara's story being tied up tightly with Dany's (girls with violet eyes need to stick together) so expect some side story Jorah/Dany angst later on (#TeamJorah #IHeartMormonts).ON HIATUS - other projects in the works





	Shadow Star

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously, this is a work of fan fiction. All familiar characters/places/plot lines belong to GRRM and D&D.

_Fuck magic._

I remember saying those words. I remember meaning them too. But it was hard to remember anything at present. I had been swallowed by twilight, my hands and feet not my own. I reached up and touched my face, if it was my face, and felt only vapors and empty space.

My own name was lost, testing my tongue but failing. Falling, spinning through air, like a white comet falling through the sky, seeking bedrock, but finding nothing. Just an empty hole in the ground. Like an open grave that went on forever. I fell and continued falling.

But was I falling? No, not now. There was a cool edge of stone against my back and my hands gripped the edge of a platform. The fall was memory. 

Swirling, rapid memory. It didn’t stop. Everything was spinning, spinning, spinning. Like a mad dance, my partners changing too fast to see their faces. A flash of that man’s eyes. I reached for his hand but found only air and then I was falling once more. I tumbled over a ledge. I couldn’t grasp an edge, I couldn’t hold onto it. It slipped through my hands like water. 

The chill of stone against my back turned colder and colder until it burned brightly, hot and white, like a star, and I suddenly bolted upright, from where a fitful half-sleep. Disoriented, I found myself sitting up on a black dais, formerly laid out like a damn sacrifice on an altar.

The spinning slowed to a stop. I was awake. I was alive. I was in the dark and alone. And I had no idea who I was, where I was or where I’d come from. I brought a wayward hand up to my face, tracing the contours and shape of my eyelids, cheekbones, lips, throat. I knew them. I felt my pulse beneath two fingers, beating away. I knew myself.

But I couldn’t bring up my name. I had no history. I was no one.

The thought was terrifying and I forced myself to breathe through a rabid black terror clutching at my soul.

 _Think,_ I told myself. _Just one truth and the rest will follow. Use your eyes. Where are you?_

I couldn’t see anything. Pitch black darkness, thick and congealed, surrounded the dais that I was sitting on. I felt the edges. A circular platform. Gingerly, I stretched my bare foot towards the floor. The stone below was the same as the raised platform, all smooth and faintly greasy. I brought my foot back, too unsure to leave the dais.

My hands moved absently to my arms, shoulders. I was dressed in silk, or some other smooth fabric. It slipped easily under my caress. My shoulders were bare. So were my feet. My long hair was wild around my face. My violet eyes strained to see anything in the darkness.

 _Violet eyes._ I remembered. _You have violet-colored eyes._

I felt a burning sensation in the corners of both. The revelation of that one, small fact, buried far beneath the surface of this strange, strange place, was exhausting. And nothing followed. Not my name, not my history. Nothing.

Instinct becomes far more important when reason is impossible. No matter who I was or where I came from, I knew that I didn’t belong in this place. The smell of incense, the dark shadows, the barely perceptible ribbon of dark gray light filtering in through a slit of window high above, showing the shadowed curve of a vaulted ceiling.

There were iron bars on that window.

This was a tainted place. The air in the room was charged with something unnatural. Pulled taut and weighed down with it. My first impression lingered. The dais I laid on was too much like an altar.

Finally, I slid off the platform quietly, unsure of where I would go or what I would do. The greasy stones beneath my feet pulsed cold, then hot, like ice and fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stones came to life and swallowed me, gnashing my bones between their teeth. I felt exposed and watched. Ten thousand needles pressed into my skin would have felt more natural. 

I shivered and whispered the only truth I still knew, “ _Fuck magic._ ” 

A flame sprung to life across the room. A torch lit, as if by itself, though I saw a tattooed hand pass in front of the torch, briefly illuminated by the flame.

“Watch your words, impulsive girl,” said the voice behind the flame, low and gravelly, obscure, paper-thin, both feminine and masculine at once, all-knowing and ready to scold. “Magic is the only reason you’re still alive.”


End file.
